


Haggle

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't do it often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the prostitute!Martin fandom trope.

It started when he was nineteen.

Martin didn't mind he couldn't afford little luxuries like his favourite shampoo brand or eating at the pizzeria every other week. He knew long before he started living on his own those were things he would have to learn to give up.

It was the other expenses he was not prepared for. Umbrellas. Socks. Toothpaste. Kitchen items like tongs, whisks, and non-stick pans. New towels. Batteries. Food, shelter, water and electricity,  _those_  Martin prepared for. Having no money to pay for fucking  _pencils_  was like a slap in the face.

And one by one, all those little expenses piled up. Near the end of his first year at univeristy, Martin ran out of money.

At the time, his parents were having money troubles of their own. The roof needed fixing, the car needed new wheels, and due to the current economic crisis, Martin's father lost his job. With Simon and Caitlin still under their parents' care, Martin could not bring himself to ask for money.

Every day he searched for a better job. They all rejected him. Too inexperienced, too uneducated, too young. When he should have been studying, Martin walked up and down the streets, looking for Help Wanted signs. He asked, he inquired, he begged.

He had noticed a car was trailing quietly next to him for quite some time now, but he ignored it, not seeing it as a threat. It wasn't until after Martin left the third shop, no job application in hand and his stomach growling loudly, the car finally pulled over and the window rolled down.

An hour later, Martin was sitting on a hotel bed, naked, staring out the window while Mr. Drudgers dressed himself.

"I like you, Martin," Mr. Drudgers said. Martin winced, wishing he had given a false name. "I wouldn't mind seeing you again."

Martin couldn't keep the disgust off his face. Mr. Drudgers merely chuckled at his response. "Since it was your first time," he continued, pulling out his purse. "A little extra is in here. Do enjoy it."

He dropped the bills on the bed. They scattered and Maritn's eyes went wide when he saw how much it really was. Once Mr. Drudgers left the room, Martin reached out to touch the bills. There was nearly seven hundred pounds in front of him.

Ignoring the ache in his backside, Martin pulled the bills closer to him, hugging them to his chest.

 

 

 

 

After that, selling himself became easier.

He didn't do it  _often_ , only when he knew he couldn't make the rent on time or he would have to go without food for a week to pay off tuition. He didn't do it for fancy clothes or shoes, he did for the necessities.

He only went out once every two to three months. He learned to haggle, to negotiate, he learned the tricks of the trade. He could see a potential buyer from the way someone would look at him. Sometimes their eyes would stray too long, sometimes they would pause for a mere fraction. Most of the time it was the way they'd look around, inspecting the area.

Were they in a secluded place? Check. No police? Check. Nobody familiar would see them? Check.

If they looked suspicious, Martin knew he had a buyer. All he needed to do next was a suggestive wiggle of his hips, name a price and see if the man bites.

Other people had emergency cash stashed away in case of fires, injuries, or other awful situations. Martin had cash stashed away to help him buy condoms. Today, Martin had to dive into that stash. The van needed new tires desperately and next month's rent was coming up quickly.

All he needed were two clients. Get in, get out, and he'll be set for the rest of the year. Bearing unforeseen obstacles.

Martin leaned against the brick wall, his stance casual enough to deter unwanted people. If he was too obvious, people would roll down their window and yell at him. If he was too subtle, potential clients would think he was the police. He had to be somewhere in between.

Already he rejected three men. The first one was way too creepy for Martin's taste. The second one was too cheap and the last one was a well-known STD carrier. The sun was setting at this point and Martin began to feel desperate. He didn't have time tomorrow to be doing this. He needed at least one client tonight.

One car passed him. Up ahead, it stopped suddenly and it began to come back in reverse. Knowing what this was, Martin pushed himself off the wall and swayed to the curb, bending over to greet his new client.

"Hello," Martin said coyly as the window rolled down. "What would you like?"

"Martin?" Douglas said, his eyes wide. Martin's stomach dropped. "I  _thought_  that was you, what the hell are you doing?"

For a second, Martin thought about running. Turn and run and don't ever look back. He almost did it too, his legs twitched of wanting to get away. The need was so strong his mind went white at sheer panic of it all.

Then years of experience kicked in. Years of dealing with the perverts, the homophobics, the cheapskates, the STD-infected arseholes. Martin dealt with them all. This was his environemnt, this was his street, and damn him to hell if he let himself be scared off by nothing. "See something you like?"

Douglas gaped. It was thrilling for Martin to see Douglas be so unsettled by one sentence. About damn time the sock was on the other foot. "Please tell me this is a joke," Douglas asked almost lightly as if he expected Martin to suddenly laugh and say yes.

In a huff, Martin pushed himself away from the window. "If you don't feel like buying, then piss off. Don't waste my time."

"Martin!"

Martin tried to walk away. Douglas shoved open the car door and followed, catching him by the arm.

Martin tried to jerk away but Douglas held firm. "Martin... Martin! Stop that! What hell are you doing?"

"Let go, Douglas!" Martin hissed, pulling. "Goddamn it, let me the fuck go!"

"Are you actually selling yourself? Jesus Christ, Martin, if money was that bad you could have asked me!"

Oh, such an easy answer wasn't it? Just ask someone for money. After all, if they were friends and friends understood your situation, then a couple of thousand pounds should be no problem.

Except friends had their own lives to lead. Families to feed, businesses to keep going. Your priorities were not their priorities and even fifty quid could be the make or break of a twenty year friendship.

There was no fucking way was Martin going to put himself into that kind of debt with Douglas Richardson.

Martin suddenly moved forward, getting into Douglas' space. Surprised by the move Douglas stepped back, again and again until he bumped into the brick wall behind him. He still refused to let go of Martin's wrist. He gasped as Martin cupped his crotch.

It was a move that even surprised Martin. It was a natural step he took sometimes with clients who were hesitant. Give them a little fondle to remind them why they were there and they were like putty in his hands. Martin didn't mean to grope Douglas. It just  _happened_.

But now he was there, his hand curling around the curve of Douglas' trousers, squeezing softly. "I am not a charity case," Martin said in a deadly calm tone. "So unless you're willing to give me a  _thousand pounds_  and expect to not see it back, fuck off and leave me to my work."

He jerked his wrist back and this time Douglas' grip was loose enough to pull free. Douglas was too busy staring at Martin, his mouth opened and eyes in disbelief to give fight.

Martin turned to leave, to find another potential spot. It was bad enough Douglas now knew his secret, but how was Martin going to face him tomorrow at work?  _Hi, Douglas, how's the coffee, by the way, I don't have have HIV?_

He couldn't think of that now. Not when he had bigger problems to deal with.

He didn't expect for Douglas to suddenly grasp his elbow, jerking him back around. "I need to get to an ATM machine," he hissed in a low tone. He started pulling Martin to his car. "I only have fifty quid on my person at the moment."

Martin tried to jerk free again but this time Douglas held strong. "Douglas! I told you, I am not going to accept your charity-!"

Douglas shoved Martin against his car and moved in swiftly, pressing his whole body down on top of Martin. "Not charity," Douglas said, grinding his hips, digging his half-erection against Martin. He sounded angry. "If I am going to pay you, you better be worth a thousand pounds."

He pulled back. "Now get in the fucking car."

 

 

 

 

Last time a man tried to pull Martin in his car with the words, "Get in," spoken to him in a threatening manner, Martin broke his nose and ran swiftly in the opposite direction.

He should have said no to Douglas. Told him to fuck off and left. And yet here Martin sat, in the passenger seat of Douglas' car, being driven to god knows where. Maybe he should open the door and throw himself out.

"Than bank is closed," Douglas said suddenly, breaking the very tense silence. "I can only withdraw four hundred pounds at the machine. Can you wait till morning for the other six hundred?"

Maartin nearly gaped at him. Was Dougas really going to go through with this? Was he really willing to give Martin a thousand pounds for sex?

He took a shuddering breath. He might as tell the truth. "I only need six hundred pounds. I only said a thousand to scare you off."

Douglas' hands tightened around the wheel. "Is  _that_  the truth?"

"Yes."

Douglas considered this. "I might have two hundred somewhere in my home. Emergency money."

After withdrawing four hundred pounds, Douglas slid back into the driver's seat. He didn't bother to put away the bills in his purse, he held them in full view of his hand. he turned to Martin. "I am still willing to give this to you, if you want it. There's no need to go through with this."

Martin went for the door. He only managed to get his hand on the handle when Douglas grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. Immediately Martin fought against him, jerking his arm away. "Fuck off!"

"Why won't you just accept this? Martin, I don't need you to pay me back, if that's what you're thinking."

"Right, like  _Douglas Richardson_  would ever let go a personal debt owed to him. You say that now but I know you too well. Sooner or later you're going to bring this up. I don't need that type of leverage against me."

"Leverage? You're saying you're more willing to go down on your knees and give some bloke a fucking  _blow job_  rather than accept this money from me?"

Martin didn't flinch from the crude language. He was used to it. "Yes."

He didn't say it cruelly but Douglas jerked as if Martin physically slapped him. There was hurt in his eyes and Martin felt he may have crossed a line he didn't know was there. Slowly, Douglas pulled back, his lips thin and angry as he shoved the bills into the inner pocket of his jacket.

 

 

 

 

They arrived at Douglas' house twenty minutes later. Douglas turned off the car, pulled the key out of the ignition and paused.

Martin has been in these type of situations before. Sometimes a client was asking themselves if they really wanted to go through with this, and if it was too late to turn back. Usually Martin would ask in a sultry tone, "Are we going inside?" to give the client one final push, but in Douglas' case, it was smarter to keep the silence.

Douglas was quiet for nearly ten good minutes. Finally, he tossed off his seatbelt and kicked the car door open. Martin followed quietly behind.

Once inside, Douglas looked like he was on the verge of punching something. He threw down his keys on the nearest table, and they skidded and fell to the floor.

As Martin bent over and picked them up, Douglas asked, "What does six hundred quid get me?"

Martin didn't know. Nobody has ever paid six hundred for him. A hand job was twenty. A blow job was sixty. Anal was a hundred. Anything more  _unique_  than that, Martin would have to consider what it was first before naming off prices.

He placed the keys down gently. "Anything you like."

Douglas stiffened.

"But," Martin continued, seeing how Douglas' mind was now conjuring up horrible mental images. "I do have rules. Condoms must always be used. No exceptions. No biting, no smacking around. Despite what you may be thinking right now, I am clean."

"That's not reassuring."

"You'd be surprise how often people don't consider STDs when they come to me."

Martin really should shut up now. He could see everything he was saying was just adding yet another reason why Douglas shouldn't do this. Martin was going to lose him if he didn't do something quick.

This was his job. He was in his fucking element. He could do this with his eyes closed. (He  _has_  done this with his eyes closed. That was a strange night.)

Slowly, Martin maneuvered into Douglas' space. Douglas let him, but he puffed up his chest, arched his back as if that was going to add distance between them. Martin closed the distance, pressed a leg between Douglas' and gave him an easy grin.

"Don't tell me you don't have fantasies, Douglas," Martin cooed, adding light pressure against Douglas' crotch. "You can tell me. Have you ever thught about gagging me? I'm sure there's been a few times you've wanted my mouth shut."

"Martin-"

"I don't have a gag ball on hand but there are other ways to keep my mouth occupied. Where would you like me to put it?"

Douglas' faces tensed as if he was in pain but Martin knew it was really because his dick was hardening under the mental image. If Martin had known a little dirty talking made Douglas speechless, he would have done this months ago.

Martin swept his hands up, up Douglas' side across his ribs until they stopped against his nipples. He pressed his fingers down, flicking them across the nubs and enjoying the way Douglas' breathing sped up.

He pressed in further, putting more pressure against Douglas' cock.

Suddenly, Douglas' hands were grabbing Martin's wrists, jerking him away, almost pushing him back. " _Stop_ ," he gasped. His voice took on a desperate tone, it as if Martin had him on the ground and ignoring his pleas. "For the love of God- I can't do this."

Martin pulled back, feeling sick. Clients hardly ever said no to him and when they did, they never sounded like  _that_.

"I can't, Martin," Douglas said, clutching his chest like he was experiencing a heart attack. The tent of his trousers was so out of place and looking at it made Martin feel worse. "I... please, just take the money. I don't care if you pay me back or not. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

Douglas refused to look at him the eye after that. He pulled out the bills from his inner pocket and placed them on the table, right next to his car keys.

Clients have done this before. Once the deed was done, they would slap the cash down or throw it at him, watching with sadistic glee as Martin went on his hands and knees to collect the scattered bills. Really, Martin didn't care what they did to him. He knew their secrets, their dirty little habits. Sometimes it was liberating when he passed a few of these clients on the street and he would waggle his tongue at them, and watched them sputter and blush.

This time though, this was Martin's dirty little secret. And Douglas had to bear witness to that.

He didn't bother to even look at the money. He brushed past Douglas, flung opened the front door and ran out. He didn't care it was late at night or he was miles away from home or he only had about ten quid in his back pocket. He ran and didn't stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting on my save file for the past couple of months. Part of me likes it, the other parts wants me to scrap the whole thing. Hope ya'll enjoy.

**Warning:** Dub/non-con situations and threats

 

Despite the setbacks, Martin managed to make a hundred quid that night. It was possibly one of the worst fucks he had ever endured (neither of them had lube on hand) but at least he could give the money to his landlord with a promise more was coming.

After he got home, he did his best to minimize the ache. He wasn't bleeding, which was a good sign and it meant he didn't need to go see a doctor. He was going to be sore for a few days but it was nothing permanent.

That was not Martin's biggest problem. How was he going to face Douglas at work now?

If only Martin had enough time to suck Douglas off, then at least he would have some type of leverage over the older man. But like always, the ball was in Douglas' court and no matter how hard Martin played, he would fall face flat. It was a just a matter of time.

Martin wanted to come in late that next morning just to avoid morning conversations and general pleasantry with everyone. As much as he wanted to do that, professional integrity wouldn't allow him anymore than it would allow him to come to work with a wrinkled uniform.

Maybe... maybe Douglas would be late. He usually was.

Any hope Martin had about a quiet morning shattered when he opened the door and saw Douglas waiting in the MJN office, on time for work for the first time in his life. Crap.

Martin could see Douglas was not about to let this go anytime soon. He stared at Martin, his eyes roaming his body as if looking for clues. Maybe he expected a giant, 'I'm a prostitute' sign to be hanging off Martin's uniform. With a level tone he said, "Close the door."

Well this was it. Either Martin was going to get into a screaming match or punches were going to be thrown. He turned and closed the door, thinking he should maybe lock it to prevent Carolyn or Arthur from wandering in.

He turned back around. Suddenly, Douglas was right there in front of him like a fucking vampire. Martin jumped back, startled. He didn't even hear him _move_.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Douglas started. "If that's what you're worried about."

Martin's eyes went to the ground, angry embarrassment burning on his cheeks.

"I am still willing to give you the six hundred, if you want it."

" _No_."

"Dammit, Martin," Douglas hissed. "Just tell me why- why won't you just take the fucking money!"

"Because you're not going to save me!"

Martin placed his hands on Douglas' chest and shoved him back. Not forcefully, just enough to give himself space. "Think about it Douglas, you honestly believe a mere six hundred pounds is going to stop my current financial crisis? Maybe, _maybe_ I can stretch that far enough for the month, but what about after? What about the next month and the month after that? Are you going to keep giving me six hundred pounds every month when you have alimony and child support to pay? I do what I do because it's a simple exchange of goods. _My_ goods for money. No taxes are involved, no bosses or employees, no mess, no foul. Nobody thinks about the grocery bill, but they do rethink about giving to charity. If you _gave_ me that money, you're going to be thinking about for years. I know. _I've seen it._ "

So many friends lost because of money. It was terrible, seeing their guilty faces for wanting to get their money back, to see their spouses scowl while their children looked on. Douglas had no idea how tired Martin was of sacrificing relationships for bills. Martin would rather get fucked in the arse every day than ask money from friends and family.

Douglas closed his eyes as if in pain. Martin could see Douglas understood. He may not agree with it, but he knew it was truth. After a minute in mute silence, he opened his eyes.

Very pointedly, Douglas pulled out and brought up twenty quid, held between thumb and fore finger. He opened up Martin's jacket, and stuffed the bill right into the chest pocket.

A wave of relief washed over Martin. He couldn't believe he actually got Douglas to agree to this. Throwing on a cocky grin, he asked, "You want a hand job?"

"No," said Douglas, patting his hand over Martin's chest where the bill sat. "You said I could have anything I want."

"Not for twenty quid-"

"For six hundred. But I choose _how_ you get it, _when_ you get it, understand?"

Martin didn't. Douglas didn't sound like a man in desperate need for a fuck. He sounded dangerous, like he was negotiating hostage terms instead of sexual acts.

But... Martin was curious. What was Douglas thinking, what was he plotting? Instead of telling Douglas where he could shove it, Martin said, "Yes, I understand."

"Good," said Douglas. He then bent down and kissed him.

Martin nearly screamed in surprise. No client ever kissed him. _Ever_. Kissing was intimate, kissing was shared between lovers, not people paying for sex. None of the workers Martin has come across has ever allowed a client to kiss them.

_Anything_ , Martin remembered saying. He said he would allow Douglas to do anything to him, for six hundred quid.

But kissing back was hard. It was like he'd forgotten how to move his mouth, how to move his lips, to engage. Had it really been that long since his last kiss?

Douglas didn't seem to notice Martin really wasn't responding. He moved forward, crowding into Martin's space, pushing up against him, tilting his head, getting more access.

Sometimes clients wanted Martin to orgasm, sometimes they didn't. Most didn't care either way. To Martin, it was just a job and if he was truthful, he only enjoyed less than half of the orgasms he had with clients.

This, however... kissing Douglas was overwhelming. The sensation of tongue, teeth and breath was making him dizzy, stealing his thoughts away and replacing them with an enjoyable white haze.

Douglas pulled away.

Martin moved his head, trying to follow his lips. "I can hear Arthur approaching," Douglas said, stepping away. He fixed his uniform, straightened his tie, then tapped Martin on his chest, where the twenty quid sat. "More will come soon."

 

 

 

 

 

Twleve hours later they landed back in Fitton. Martin, still suffering from the ache in his bum, staggered out of the office, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep for the next ten years.

Half-way to his van, slightly limping, Douglas' stopped him. "Why are you limping?"

_Because last night you left me without a ride home and I ended up catching one with some bloke with a dick bigger than his forearm._

"Cramp," Martin said.

Douglas made a face. He grabbed Martin's arm and started tugging him away. "C'mon, you're coming home with me tonight."

Martin didn't want to come home with him. He wanted to go back to his own home, drink tea, curl up in his own bed and not move. Just the thought of 'entertaining' Douglas was almost too tiring to bear.

When Douglas noticed Martin's hesitation, he pulled out another twenty. He stuffed it into Martin's inner pocket.

Martin internally groaned and allowed himself be pulled away. The pain in his arse throbbed with every step.

 

 

 

 

 

Once they got back to Douglas' house (the same house Martin ran from the previous night. How strange) Martin fully expected to strip and perform right then and there. Instead, Douglas pointed up the stairs and said, "Go take a shower."

Which wasn't that obtuse of a request. Some clients wanted a natural smell, others mostly wanted you to practice decent hygiene. Still, a shower sounded wonderful. Nice hot water to soothe his muscles.

He went upstairs, and quickly stripped, half-expecting Douglas to walk in and fuck him right there. Some clients did like the 'surprise!' technique, catching Martin off-guard whilst dressing. Sometimes they surprised him when he was in the middle of taking a piss. However, Douglas did not come and Martin slipped into the shower only slightly disppointed.

For the first five minutes, Martin just soaked. He stood under the spray, eyes closed, enjoying the heat on his skin. He could have stayed under there for another fifteen minutes easily but he had a job to do.

He did a thorough cleaning of his genitals, his armpits, his legs and neck. He washed his hair and face. He hesitated on cleaning his anus. It was still so sore and the thought of even touching it made him wince. Biting his lip, Martin reach behind himself.

Even the gentle prodding of his fingers made his eyes tear up. It didn't matter if Douglas used a whole bottle of lube- this was going to be painful. Perhaps more painful than last night.

Martin gritted his teeth and cleaned himself the best he could.

 

 

 

 

 

The smell of dinner was what greeted him.

Chicken, tomatoes, garlic and pepper. The combined smells was like heaven and Martin's mouth began to water. Beyond the cheese tray and the little sandwich he had made for himself, Martin didn't eat much today. Anxiety tended to steal his appetite.

He hesitated coming into the kitchen. While it was nice to think Douglas might be cooking dinner for them, with clients, Martin was lucky if any of them were willing to pay for a hotel room, let alone food. If he assumed the food was for him, it would be embarrassing for the both of them.

He peeked around the corner and saw Douglas scooping out chicken onto two dishes. Feeling a little more confident, Martin stepped forward, annoucning himself. "Hey."

Douglas looked up. Martin had been expecting they would go straight to sex and had not bothered getting dressed. Instead, he took to wearing one of Douglas' robes, leaving the knot loose in front. "Oh good," Douglas said, only giving the robe a quick look over. "You're just in time. Come, sit down, eat before it gets cold."

Martin didn't need to be told twice. He sat down and took a nice large bite of chicken. It was delicious. "Mmmm... mmmhm! This is incredible."

"Of course," Douglas said, beaming with pride. "But really, it's a simple dish. Eat as much as you want, there's plenty."

Good thing too, because Martin was nearly done with his first plate. He was ready to take the last bite and go up and get more when he suddenly remembered why he was here.

He put his fork and last bits of uneaten chicken down. "What are you doing?"

Douglas raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"This," Martin clarified, waving a hand between them. "I came here expecting to be fucked."

Douglas didn't flinch at the word, but there was a small wince. "What's wrong with a good meal?"

"Because nobody has ever done it before!" Which was technically a lie. Once or twice clients brought him food. McDonalds.

"You're providing me with your company, isn't that the whole point?"

Martin growled and pushed back, getting to his feet. If Douglas had no plans of sex tonight, then he was leaving. He could drop the lousy twenty quid on a nightstand somewhere.

"Martin!" He heard Douglas call at his back. "Martin!"

He only got as far as the entrance into the hallway when Douglas' large arms wrapped themselves around Martin's body, pulling him back. "Douglas! Jesus, fuck!"

He struggled, his arms were trapped by Douglas'. He considered kicking Douglas in the shin when a hand wrapped around his chin, forcing his head to the side.

A broad, wet tongue swept over his ear and Martin gasped, then shuddered.

Instinctively he tried to pull away but Douglas held firm. Douglas repeated his actions, running his tongue over and over the cartilage, occasionally nibbling the lobe, or pressing small chaste kisses behind the ear.

Martin was crying out like it was _killing him_. He never _ever_ had someone put their mouth on his ears before. He never knew his ears could be so sensitive. His cheeks were burning and his legs were trembling, struggling to hold himself up.

The loose knot on his robe was slowly coming apart, exposing his nakedness to the cool air. Martin instinctively tried to close his legs to cover himself though he knew that was pointless.

When Douglas finally left Martin's left ear and moved his mouth onto his right, Martin finally lost it.

With an embarrassed grunt, he came. He was only half aware the mess was caught by Douglas' bath robe and was glad for it. He certainly didn't want to clean semen off the carpet.

Martin was gasping, nearly heaving. Douglas' hand around his chin relaxed, dropping down to hold Martin in an embrace, refusing to let go.

He dropped a kiss on top of Martin's wet hair. "That was worth twenty quid."

 

 

 

 

 

So how it went over the next few weeks. Douglas' actions were more intimate than sexual, and yet every 'paid session' left Martin frustrated, aroused and embarrassed.

Like when Douglas spent nearly fifteen minutes kissing the inside of Martin's arm. He sucked at the crook of Martin's elbow, nibbled at his wrist, running his tongue near the edge of his armpit.

Or that time when Douglas pushed up Martin's shirt, leaned down and lapped at Martin's belly button. There was no grand technique involved, he just dipped his tongue in over and over again, occasionally squeezing Martin's sides with his hands.

Last night had Martin sitting on a chair, exposing his naked back to Douglas, while Douglas ran his fingers up and down Martin's spine, barely touching him.

Oh, Douglas paid him. Twenty pounds here, twenty pounds there. Technically it wasn't much, but it paid for the petrol in Martin's car, the meals for the week, and any other little expenses he had. Between the van job and Douglas' 'allowance,' Martin was able to keep his head above water.

Eventually, like all things in his life, his luck ran out.

 

 

 

 

 

Martin stared down at the piece of paper in his hand. He was shaking so badly he was almost tearing it. "You can't do this."

"I can and have," said the landlord. "Frankly, Martin, it was fine in the beginning, but now it's just creepy. A man in his mid-thirties living with a bunch of university students? Besides, it was girls who started this petition, not me. They felt uncomfortable and I don't blame them."

There were only two young women sharing the house, both whom Martin barely spoken with. "I have done nothing to be evicted," Martin hissed. His voice began to crack. "This is discrimination. I'll sue-"

The landlord suddenly stepped in close, dropping his voice down to a whisper and hissed, "I know about your other _job_ , Martin. I saw you."

Martin's throat seized and he thought he would choke. He barely registered the landlord stepping back, smiling ugly and victorious.

"You have a choice here, Martin. You can either leave without a fight, or I can call the police and tell them about your hobbies. Either way, you're not staying here."

 

 

 

 

 

Martin supposed he should be grateful he didn't have much stuff to begin with. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to fit all of it into his van.

But now he had no room left to even sleep in his own van. He could sleep in the driver's seat. Maybe.

Maybe... he could call one of his clients. Some of them did give him their home phone number. They just like the idea of having some kind of sex slave at home. Martin certainly didn't want to find himself stuck in some crazed, sex-torture dungeon. Martin only kept the numbers just in case if his beaten, dead body was found on the streets, the police would know who to call first.

Martin called the first number. A small little girl's voice answered, "Hello?"

He hung up immediately.

Martin called the second number and all he got was a dial-tone. The third number was a business number.

The fourth number got picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" It was a man's voice.

"Hey, huh-" Martin looked at the name listed on the phone. "Tom. It's, huh, Marvin."

Marvin was the name Martin adopted when he was out on the streets. "Who?"

"Marvin, you know. We met out on... St Patricks drive?"

There was a pause on the other line. Then a shuffling noise and when Tom's voice came back on, he was whispering feverishly, " _How dare you call me at my home? What if my wife picked up? Or one of my kids?_ "

Martin was taken back. "Hey, you're the one who gave me your number-"

" _Yeah, well, delete it! If you ever, EVER call me back again, I swear I'll hunt you down and rip your fucking throat out-_ "

Martin hung up and immediately deleted the number. He tossed his phone aside to the passenger seat. In a fit of despair, he grabbed at his hair, groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel. What was he going to do? He didn't have enough money to rent a new place. Hotels were too expensive. Even the cheapest of places would require Martin to suck at least ten dicks to pay for a night. How much money did he have, anyways?

Martin reached around to his back pocket to check his purse. All he had was the twenty pounds Douglas gave him yesterday morning.

Douglas...

No, Martin couldn't. He shouldn't.

Well, what other options did Martin have? Said a little voice in his head. Yeah, he could stay with Simon or Caitlin, though that was an extra forty minute drive every day. Martin did not have the money for so much petrol every week. _What if one of them finds out?_ No matter how much his sister and brother loved him, there was no way would they allow a _whore_ in their house with their kids.

Shaking, Martin pushed the call button on his phone.

"Hello? Douglas?"

 

 

 

 

 

"Extra towels are here, blankets are here, and bathroom is down the hall. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

The guest room was bigger than Martin's own flat. It was warm, welcoming, and it smelled good. The university kids had no problems smoking inside of the house, so Martin's room always stunk like cigarettes. Martin took great, antagonizing strides to keep the smell of his uniform.

Not since he was a _kid_ did Martin have so much luxury. It was almost like he went back home. It was nearly too much to take in. "Thank you, Douglas," Martin said. He bowed his head, struggling to get the words out and not cry at the same time. "I really appreciate it."

"It's fine, Martin," Douglas said. "Really."

No, it wasn't fine. No matter what Martin could do, there was no way he could ever repay Douglas for this. Martin owed him his _life_.

"I'm going to start on dinner," Douglas said, moving towards the door. "Why don't you get settled in?"

He left. His heavy footsteps echoed as he walked across the hall, then down the stairs. Martin waited till he knew Douglas was physically in the kitchen before opening his duffle bag. Inside were the usual items: clothing, shoes, his uniform and general toiletries. There was also a small black bag which Martin took out first.

He unzipped it, inspecting the contents. Condoms, and a fresh bottle of lube.

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner was incredible. Of course it was incredible, Douglas' cooking always was. Cooking was something Martin wished he could master, or at least made an effort at. He just didn't have the time or the money to spend on such exotic food and kitchen items. At the moment, he didn't even own _spoons_.

"That was delicious," Martin said once they were done. "Thank you."

The scene was a familiar one. Martin was sure Douglas was thinking back to that very first dinner, and the argument that followed after. The only difference was, Martin couldn't leave if he wanted to. "My pleasure," Douglas said, choosing not to bring up that particular night.

Douglas gathered the dishes to wash. Martin quickly scrambled to his feet, rushing over to the sink. "Here, let me."

"No, Martin, I'm the host, I should-"

"I'm the one living here as a guest. Please, it's the least thing I could do."

Douglas sighed heavily, as if this was hard for _him_. "Alright," he said, moving away from the sink.

Martin felt relieved. It was a stupid, tiny, pointless victory. He would be happy to do a million dishes a day, yet knew no amount of washing, cleaning, or scrubbing was going to erase the debt Martin had put himself in. How do you repay someone who gave you a roof over your head without thinking? Did it without question, without judgement or pity?

Martin filled the sink with warm water and soap. He began washing in ernest, scrubbing at the dishes like it was his mission in life.

"You can fuck me, you know."

Douglas had been wiping down the table with a rag. The noise of the movement against the tablecloth ceased, adding to the uncomfortable silence between them. Martin continued washing, if only to keep his ears from ringing.

He heard Douglas move, his heels clicking on the linoleum. He stiffened when Douglas' arms curled around him, pulling him close to Douglas' chest. Martin's hands were still wet, and the towel was too far away to grab.

Though Martin could feel Douglas' genitals against his arse, Douglas was not hard. Not even a little bit.

"I'm going to tell you something I have never told anyone before," Douglas said. "I love you."

Martin jerked. The arms around him held strong as he struggled to get loose. Douglas was bigger, heavier, and as Martin tried to throw him off, he made soothing noises, like he was trying to calm a wild beast.

Finally, Martin went limp in his grip, too tired to really fight back.

Douglas loosened one arm. He brushed away the hair from Martin's sweaty brow. "Good lord, Martin, when was the last time you let someone help you?"

"Fuck you," Martin said without any real bite to it. He didn't know what he was saying, couldn't control what was coming out of his mouth. What was going on? What was happening? " _Please_."

Slowly, Douglas pulled away, letting Martin go. His hands were at the ready, as if he were expecting Martin to take off suddenly. Martin merely stepped forward to grasp onto the sink for strength. Water, now cold, dripped off his hands and onto the floor.

"I love you, Martin," Douglas continued after a few seconds. "It's the reason why I can't fuck you, why I _won't_ fuck you."

"Stop-"

"I am not buying that intimacy. Not now, not ever. The other ones, the kisses and touches, I wish I could take them back. I feel like I violated something between us, and I am not sure what. But you needed the money and you refused to let me help you, so I did what I had to. But now, Martin, I am telling you _you don't have to do this_. I don't expect payment. I am not holding you in debt. I am doing this because _I love you_."

Martin shook his head. "I don't love you."

The words were cruel, but true. Douglas was nothing more than a friend, a colleague, his first officer. Maybe in another life, they could have been something. Martin was way too far in the rabbit hole to dig himself out, to ever feel he could give back without this hanging over their heads.

"I know," said Douglas. "That's why I kept my feelings to myself. Now you know my secret. Use it."

Martin turned to face him. "What?"

Douglas didn't repeat himself, but straightened his back, as if expecting some kind of blow.

Martin gaped. "You actually think I'm the type of person who would use your affections against you? I would never do that!"

"Then why do you believe _I_ would use this against you? You don't _owe_ me. You never did."

Martin believed him.

"No," Martin said to himself, shaking his head, trying to disprove it. "No."

"Martin?"

People expected to be paid. That was how the world _worked_. There was no way Douglas could accept someone as lowly as Martin, to live in his house and eat his food without expecting something back. He had to be paid back otherwise everything will be in ruin.

And yet Martin believed him. Everything in his being was going against what he learnt, what he experienced. His brain was telling him that Douglas was lying, that he didn't know what he was asking for. Even close knit family members could be torn apart because of money. _He's seen it happened_.

And yet Martin _believed_ him.

This was all making his head spin. Douglas loved him. Wanted to help him. And Douglas expected nothing in return, not Martin's love, not his body, nothing.

Douglas gently tugged on Martin's wrist. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get you to bed.

 

 

 

 

 

One day at a time, Douglas said, to prove to Martin he meant what he said.

Was... was this taking advantage? Was it selfish? All Martin wanted was to make enough money to support his dream. He didn't need much, he never wanted much. Was it really that bad to step back and allow someone other than his parents to take the wheel... even if it was for a little while?

Down the hall, Martin could hear Douglas snoring. Maybe... maybe if Martin gave it time, he could show Douglas how grateful he was. Maybe he could fall in love with Douglas.

And then his debt to Douglas would finally be paid.

Slowly, Martin closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink deeper into the blankets. He fell asleep to the soft sound of Douglas' snores.

That night, Martin dreamt of flying.


End file.
